


“I was thinking about the number one hundred.”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Kisses [50]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:24:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: I realised that I was coming up on one hundred pieces for our lovely fandom. What better way to mark it than with a First Kiss? And it just so happens to be the fiftieth one of those. And then I realised that May 15th is the anniversary of my first First Kiss, so lots of little things to celebrate!





	“I was thinking about the number one hundred.”

**Author's Note:**

> I realised that I was coming up on one hundred pieces for our lovely fandom. What better way to mark it than with a First Kiss? And it just so happens to be the fiftieth one of those. And then I realised that May 15th is the anniversary of my first First Kiss, so lots of little things to celebrate!

Strike shouldered his way into the Tottenham and looked around. He soon spotted his partner in a corner, a glass of wine in front of her. She sat slumped, looking dejected.

 _Hardly surprising,_ he told himself. _She probably thought you’d forgotten._ He made his way over to her.

“Robin, I’m so sorry,” he said as soon as he was within earshot. “The meeting overran, and then the Tube station was closed because of a suspicious package, and the next station was so rammed full they closed that one too as I got to it, so I had to get the bloody bus...” He tailed off, looking at her. “You all right?”

She waved an arm vaguely at him. “’S okay,” she said. “I started without you. An’ then you still didn’t turn up, so I carried on without you.”

Strike looked at her empty glass. “How many of those have you had?”

“Only two.”

He grinned. “Lightweight. Coke?”

She nodded, and he went to the bar. He ordered a whisky and a pint for himself, a Coke for Robin and two packets of crisps. He drank the whisky and took the rest of the items to the little table Robin was sat at. She was slowly twirling her empty glass in her fingers, staring into it.

“So what’s brought this on? It can’t be just because I’m so late?” He sat down at right angles to her so as not to block the aisle.

“I was thinking,” Robin said slowly, “about the number one hundred.”

Strike looked at her, nonplussed. “Okay...”

She nodded for a moment, and thought some more.

“Y’see, its a hundred days today since I finally got divorced.”

“Ah.” Some of her melancholy was starting to make sense. Robin took a slurp of her Coke, then opened one of the packets of crisps and started to eat them. Strike waited, sipping his pint.

“And then I realised I was married for pretty much a hundred weeks.”

Strike raised one eyebrow. “I thought it was only a year?”

“It was a year and a bit till I left,” she said. “But if you count from the date of the wedding to the date my divorce was all done and dusted and legal, it was almost exactly a hundred weeks. I worked it out.”

“Right.”

She sighed. “One hundred weeks. That’s rubbish. Loads of people are married for decades. My parents have been married nearly forty years. I can count the length of my marriage in weeks, Cormoran.”

“Quite a lot of weeks.”

“You know what I mean.” She waved vaguely again. Strike nodded. He still wasn’t sure where this was going. At least the Coke and crisps seemed to be sobering her up a little.

“So,” she went on. “Married for a hundred weeks, which I think we can agree is pretty poor going. And then single for a hundred days. Legally. On my own for longer, of course. Want to know how many dates I’ve had in those hundred days?”

 _Not really._ “Go on, how many?”

“None. Zero. Zilch. Not a single one.”

This shouldn’t have pleased him, but it did.

“Well, it’s early—”

“A hundred days is three months.” Robin gazed out of the window. “But the thing is, it’s not all that long since the wedding. Not really. Before I know it, I’ll have been single a hundred weeks. Then a hundred months, that must be, like...” She screwed up her face, calculating.

“Eight years, ish. I don’t think you’re in danger of—”

“—and then it’ll be a hundred years, and I’ll be old and grey and dead and _still_ single.”

Strike had to suppress an urge to laugh. Robin must have seen his amusement, because she glared at him. “It’s not funny, Cormoran.”

“Well, it is a tiny bit.”

“Why?”

“Come off it, Robin. There’s no way you’re going to be single for a hundred weeks, let alone months or years. You’ll meet someone.”

“Who? I’m not young any more, Cormoran.”

“You’re only twenty-eight.”

“Nearly twenty-nine.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Is that what this is about? Because it’s your birthday soon?”

“My last twenty-something birthday. This time next year I’ll be thirty. And still single.” Robin gazed gloomily into her Coke.

Strike smiled and shook his head a little.

“What?”

“Well, this time next year I’ll be not far off forty.”

“That’s different,” Robin said decidedly.

“How so?”

“It’s different for guys. It just is. And you were with Charlotte for ages, you made more of a go of it than I did with Matthew.”

Strike sighed heavily. “I’m not sure staying in a dysfunctional relationship for longer counts as more of a success, Robin,” he said. “You got out when you needed to. I stayed years too long.”

“Why?” She gazed at him, her clear blue-grey gaze holding his.

He was taken aback. She’d never asked him such a direct personal question before. Even Ilsa tended to skirt around the subject of why he’d stayed with Charlotte so long.

“I don’t know,” he said after a pause. “I thought I loved her.”

“And now you think you didn’t?”

“I did once. I think. Or at least, I loved the idea of her. I loved who I thought she was.”

Robin thought about that for a long minute.

“I did love Matt,” she said decidedly. “But years and years ago. He was my first love, my childhood sweetheart. We should have broken up at uni, been heartbroken for a bit, gone on and met other people and had grown-up relationships. But...” She tailed off and looked down at the table.

Strike slid his hand across and squeezed hers briefly. “I know.” He drew his hand away again.

Robin sighed. Absently rubbing her hand where he’d touched her, she said, “I think I knew long before the wedding that I didn’t love him. I just didn’t want to see it.”

She gave herself a visible little shake. “Anyway,” she went on. “Still doesn’t alter the fact I’ve been single for a hundred days, and it’ll soon be a hundred weeks.”

Strike shook his head fondly. “What is it with you and the number one hundred tonight?”

Robin shrugged. “Just being maudlin, I guess. You want another beer?”

“Go on, then.”

Robin headed for the ladies, and Strike took the opportunity to step outside for a cigarette. The autumn evening was cooling rapidly and he wished he’d brought his coat. He smoked and thought about what Robin had said. _No dates. Not one._

They met back at the table. Robin had bought a pint for him and another wine for herself.

“It’s okay,” she grinned, seeing his look. “I’m all right. The Coke and crisps sobered me up.”

He nodded and sat. “Good,” he said. “Because I’ve been thinking. We need some positive one hundreds for you.”

“Like what?”

“Well, let’s start small. How about a hundred hours? A hundred hours is just over four days. You never take time off, why don’t you go to Masham for a nice long weekend?”

Robin nodded thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea. I might just do that.” A smile crept across her face. “I still need cheering up tonight, though.”

Strike thought. “A hundred minutes. How about a film? Bet we could find something at the cinema that’s that long.”

Robin grinned. She was enjoying this game now. “What else?”

“A football match. If you include half time, that’s not much more than a hundred minutes.”

Robin was giggling now. “And this is supposed to cheer me up how? Watching Arsenal seems to make you miserable more often than happy.”

Strike laughed too. “That’s true.”

“Come on, smaller. More immediate.”

“A hundred seconds?” Strike thought hard. “The time it takes to boil a kettle? I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

She smiled across at him, her eyes sparkling now, beautiful. “Oh, that’s so sweet, thank you.” Her smile was soft, warm, the curve of her lips so inviting. “That would definitely cheer me up.”

A sudden, crazy impulse seized him. “But if you want really immediate...”

“Yes?”

He leaned across and kissed her.

Strike was almost as surprised as Robin that he’d done it. He felt her start, then melt into him at once, her lips softening against his. He kissed her gently, pressing his lips to hers, and felt her smile against him, just a little. Then her lips parted and her hand slid into his hair.

With a soft groan, Strike leaned closer. His lips parted, mirroring hers, and his tongue came forward, tentative at first but then bold as her hand in his hair pulled him closer. His hand was at her waist now, his thumb brushing gentle circles against her through her blouse as their tongues met and explored.

They kissed for what felt like a long time, and then Robin drew back and smiled softly at him, her eyes languid. “Was that a hundred seconds?”

Strike chuckled deep in his throat, feeling a little light-headed with joy and desire. “I have no idea, I wasn’t counting.”

“I think we’d better make sure,” she said huskily, and kissed him again.

Heat jumped between them this time. Desire rose sharply in Strike as her tongue met his more forcefully now, and he soon broke off again reluctantly. Robin gazed at him, panting a little.

“We are, in fact, in a public place,” he said a little hoarsely.

“Then let’s go somewhere more private.” She grinned at him, and Strike’s heart lurched. “You’ve definitely cheered me up. Can we move on to a hundred minutes now?”

He laughed. “That can be arranged. Then a hundred hours. And after that—”

Robin kissed him softly again, stopping his words. “Let’s take it a hundred days at a time for now.”

She stood and offered him her hand. Grinning, Strike stood too. He slid his hand into hers and followed her out of the Tottenham.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t have anything else in the pipeline right now, and I have rather taken up a chunk of this fandom, so I might just lurk and read for a while, but I’m sure I shall post again when the muse strikes. :)))


End file.
